


Club Can’t Even Handle Me Right Now

by sweetiejelly



Category: As the World Turns RPF
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-14
Updated: 2011-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-26 02:04:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetiejelly/pseuds/sweetiejelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Van and Jake meet up at a club after the show's over, the unresolved thing between them stays unresolved. Or does it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Club Can’t Even Handle Me Right Now

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of a loose collection of fics for miss_smp's birthday. A belated happy, happy birthday, dear Steph! All titles stolen from Flo Rida's "Club Can't Handle Me." But the fics don't have much to do with the song. Sorry! Just that they're all set in clubs. Hope you like them, Steph! ♥

They made dates even after the show was over. Jake didn’t think too hard about it. He missed Van. They always have fun hanging out. That was all the reasons he needed.

Jake looked over the club scene, taking stock of where the bar was, where the restroom was, and where the exits were. This was his routine, a routine Van made fun of him for often.

“Jake! You made it!” Arms hugged him from behind and Jake leaned into the warmth. Van must have downed some drinks already. He got real friendly with vodka in his system, a fact that made Jake feel protective towards him, his best friend.

“Hey!” He turned around in the tight circle of Van’s arms and hugged him properly. When he felt wet lips on his neck, he laughed and pried Van off. “How late am I?”

Van looked at him seriously, almost like he was sober. “If I were an airplane, I’d be half way to L.A. by now.” Then Van grinned, the gold in his hazel eyes shimmering, beautiful.

Jake rolled his eyes. “Sorry. Got held up.” Which was mostly true. So it took him a while picking out what to wear. Van could be judgmental about clothing choices was all. He didn’t want to _not_ look good for him. Or something.

Van pulled on Jake’s sleeve and half-shouted into his ears, all lips and warm air. “See that guy at the end of the bar? Horrible, and I mean _horrible_ pick up lines. If I have to hear any more about angels falling or polar bears crashing or any other tragedies, I’m seriously going to scream.”

“We wouldn’t want that.” Jake stared at the guy Van was talking about. Now the guy was making eyes at him too. Oh hell.

Jake looked down at Van who stared back at him with _that_ look in his eyes. Right. Usually Jake only did this while three sheets to the wind. But creeper bears and angels killer was still staring at them. And Van’s lips were parting, beautiful and inviting. Jake stopped thinking.

He let Van tug his face down. He let Van kiss him, all hands and tongue and then he was tugging back, kissing back, tasting the alcohol on Van’s breath and something weightier, something thoroughly Van. They shuffled their feet to the beat of the club, letting the loud thrumming take over as they found their rhythm. They were good at this now, good at making out.

Jake was surprised at how much better this felt sober. He could register Van’s hands mapping his back, stroking spine. He could register the light suction of Van’s mouth, drawing a response. He could feel his need spiking comically fast.

“Fuck me,” Van whispered in his ears and grabbed his ass.

Jake moaned and laughed at the same time, a strange sound. He wanted. God, he wanted. But he was supposed to protect Van from all the guys out there who might take advantage, including himself. “You’re drunk,” he kissed Van’s cheek affectionately.

Van answered with a tongue licking hot into his mouth. Jake couldn’t taste much alcohol now, just this heat, Van. “Okay, come on. Let’s get you home.” He held tight to Van, a hand around waist as he guided them out an exit. See? His routines were helpful.

“Hmm,” Van looked up at him adoringly, like he was the most awesome thing on the planet. Jake tried to smile back. He wanted that look when Van was sober. Was that too much to ask?

Van cuddled against him in the cab, a hand resting over Jake’s chest, his head snug in the crook of Jake’s neck. Jake couldn’t smell anything else but Van. And he’s half mad and half glad. On the one hand, he’s got Van all to himself now, away from the club and all its patrons. On the other hand, he’s going to have to tuck Van into bed soon and leave. And Jake didn’t want to leave. He wished the cab ride would take forever. They were good like this, just being. Van was mumbling to him about L.A. and scouting apartments, about these scripts he was reading, about the possibility of going back to school.

“I miss working with you,” Van kissed his neck. And Jake laid his cheek on top of Van’s head. “Yeah, me too.”

They stayed like that until the cab pulled up to Van’s place. And Jake was sorry the night was coming to an end. He hated this, this unresolved thing between them. (That it was unresolved. Not that it was a thing.)

It was still unresolved when he laid Van down on the bed. Van clung to him, stronger than his drunkenness might indicate. “Stay, Jake. Want you to stay.” Van kissed his face, loud smacking kisses from cheek to neck. And then Van bit him, just hard enough to draw red to the skin. Just enough to break Jake’s resolve.

Jake pressed Van into the bed, kissing him back. Van’s legs wrapped around him and Jake shuddered. He could feel Van hard against his bellybutton, rutting.

“Okay. Wait-wait-wait.” Jake inched away barely as Van licked over his lips, just the barest of touch and about the sexiest thing Jake had ever felt. He closed his eyes.

“I know you think I’m drunk,” Van kissed him between words. “But I’m - “

“-drunk,” Jake finished for him. “I love you but I have to go.” I have to go _because_ I love you.

“I love you, too.” Van petted his face, fond, fond, fond written all over his eyes and lips.

“Tell me again when you’re sober.” Jake worked open Van’s fly and took hold of Van’s cock, the weight familiar in his hand. Without taking his eyes off of Van’s, Jake jerked him off. Then he cleaned him up and kissed him again, softer, slower. “Go to sleep. I’ll call you.”

Jake called Van the next day but Van didn’t mention anything about the night before. And Jake let it go. Had to. Van was leaving soon anyway, to L.A., to his new life.

This was what Jake told himself. It was inevitable. Being best friends didn’t involve half the things they did together anyway. And it was half his fault that they did everything together for so long. It had to stop. It just had to.

Didn’t mean he had to like it though. A week later, he was nursing a bowl of chicken soup when a knock came at his door. “Who is it?”

“Me.”

Jake would have known that voice anywhere. He hesitated, looking down at his sad state of dress. His t-shirt was frayed at the edge. His socks were mismatched.

“’Me’ as in Van.”

Jake rolled his eyes and yanked open the door. “I know who ‘me’ is.”

“Well, grandpa, walk faster next time.” Van threw a grin at him, too gorgeous for his own good.

Jake let him in, brushing arms with Van in a way that made him entirely too warm.

“Good soup?” Van sat down and spooned up a sip. “It’s so cold out there I swear I could feel my nipples freeze and then drop off inside my sweater.”

“Did you save them so uh- so the doctors could sew them back on?” Jake joked as he sat down, easy the way he always felt around Van.

“Nah,” Van took a bite of his corn bread too. “Don’t need them.”

Jake chuckled and drank more of his soup. “I thought you were on your way home for Thanksgiving. Is your flight delayed?”

Van chewed, face a little puffed up like a chipmunk. He shook his head and took his time. “No,” he finally said. “I’m still packing.”

“Oh.” Jake spooned up more soup, letting the flavors overwhelm him from the inside.

“You know – packing – finding what I need and putting them all together to take with me.”

Jake glared at him. “Just because my socks are mismatched today – and only because I put them on in the dark – doesn’t mean I’m five.”

Van looked down, studying Jake’s feet. “Oh yeah – they _are_ mismatched.”

“Thanks. I just said that.”

“Come with me,” Van blew out the sentence the way he blew on the soup. Too fast really.

“What?”

Van stared at the corn bread for too long, breaking off a piece and then another piece, making a mess of things. He gave up finally, leaving all the crumbs on the plate. He looked up as he dusted off his hands. “Come up for Thanksgiving with me.”

He grabbed one of Jake’s hands, the one that had just let go of the soup spoon. He held it warmly, pressing down on a finger at a time. “You told me to tell you again when I’m sober, so. I plan on being sober on Thanksgiving.” Van tried on a smile. “My mom makes a mean stuffing. Not to mention her pumpkin pie. And -”

Jake kissed him before Van could rattle off the entire menu. It was little more than a peck and more real than any kiss they’ve shared. “Okay.”

Van beamed then, a full-on smile that lit up his eyes. “Okay.” He stole some more of Jake’s soup. “I’ll try to remember to get you some socks for the holidays.”

“Shut up,” Jake mock-pushed him.

“Make me,” Van pushed back.

So Jake had to pull him in and kiss him again. And again.


End file.
